Taste In Men
by Werewolves-Oh-My
Summary: When he was with women, she could at least pretend it was her that lay in his arms... RLSB COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

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_Disclaimer: all characters which appear on this page are the property of JK Rowling.  
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_Warnings: sexual themes, male/male relationships, violence (in later chapters)  
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_Note: One character's age has been altered for the sake of the storyline.  
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Every woman wants a bad boy.

There's no use trying to deny it. Dark features, accompanied by sinfully plump lips and a sense of adventure makes most women, myself included, go weak at the knees. And naturally, when on the search for Mr Right, there is bound to be one such man, with smouldering looks and a personality that tugs at the heartstrings (among other things), who makes all others pale in comparison.

These men are rebellion personified. Fighting against the norms of society, their debonair graces allow them to lead and not be led. To rule and not be commanded. To conquer the hearts of many whilst keeping their own hearts guarded better than the secrets of the dead, leaving room for only the stealthiest of women to slide their way in.

The mythical Prometheus, defying authority and creating their own destinies, dragging everyone else along for the ride. Why, without their independence the wizarding world would truly crumble and stagnate, with no one to disrupt the waters. They are the leaders of the pack, so was there ever any doubt that each woman would hold one of these primal rogues close to their heart? Did I stand any chance of preventing my own bewitching rogue from ripping my heart from my chest to keep as his own?

For my bad boy smoulders like no other. During the day, cloak draped gracefully across his strong shoulders, he strides through the building, commandeering the heart of every girl who should be so unfortunate as to cross his path. Oh, to be one of the lucky souls whose shoulders are graced with the weight of his arm as he whispers sweet nothings into their waiting ears! They fall to him willingly, unable to resist as he slowly kills their dreams of reality, dragging them into his idealistic world.

And in the evenings, oh, the evenings, when his cloak is replaced by the delectably smooth leather jacket, and the bookbag is thrown aside, he sizzles. The same woman as earlier - or perhaps a new lady, should the other one not live up to expectations - worships him, at his beck and call as he showers her with terms of endearment for her troubles.

I sit in the common room at night, watching him and his fille de joir, the women that can hold his fancy for but a day. Sometimes he'll give them an innocent kiss, sometimes he'll make love to them, writhing in the chair hidden in the corner, unaware of my presence as I lurk in the shadows. I close my eyes and pretend the moans are being drawn from my lips, that the feather-light kisses are being lain against my skin, coaxing goosebumps across my flesh.

We would run away together. I could calm the savage beast that lays within him. I could bear his rages, bare my heart, bear his children. His light stubble could scrape its way across my swollen stomach, ripe with child, as he declared his love for me, for us, for our family. His charm and rage could be sated, could be handled, if only he would let me try.

Tonight, his courtesan writhes desperately, repeating the prayer of his name as his lips smile lightly, eyes blank. She's his first in almost a month. The chastity preceding her took me by surprise. I need this as much as he does.

I stifle a moan as he kisses her earlobe, hands trailing down to rest upon her hips. My own hands trace the same lines upon my body lazily, hands resting lightly on the elastic of my skirt. Today is different. His eyes don't connect with her, don't sparkle as usual, and although he goes through the initial motions, there is none of the usual passion behind the sexual movements.

He fingers her waistband as I let my fingers dance along my own, eyes closing as I listen to his partner's moans. He is silent as he continues his administrations, but I am more than familiar with the paths he is tracing, knowing his sexual habits perhaps even better than he himself does.

My bad boy allows a brief touch to the girl's hip, eliciting a moan from our lips. My teeth tear into my lower lip, digging deeper with desperate desire as he pulls his courtesan's arms above her head. Opening my eyes once more, I watch as he kisses a pattern up her neck slowly, letting the perfect body below him gyrate desperately.

Suddenly, my head snaps as the common room entrance swings open, a tall, imposing, masculine form filling the doorway. My bad boy freezes, movements stilled by the new occupant as his scarlet woman continues to gyrate and moan. Satan stops, staring at the couple for a moment, before nodding lightly at my bad boy, and continuing his journey up towards the dormitories.

I can't help but let a whine escape my lips as my bad boy pushes his scarlet woman off lazily, stalking in the direction of the unwelcome intruder, the name rolling off his plump ruby lips with practiced ease as he disappears up the steep staircase behind the devil.

The actions of the woman left behind are lost to me as I slide along the wall towards the exit, slinking up to the girl's dormitory subtly, lamenting the interruption to the lover's tryst. I needed to see him, to see him moan, to see him screw his eyes shut in pleasure, to see him release himself, for him to be at his most vulnerable whilst I, I, I, was in the room. Yet once again I am left wanting, once again I will have to wait for the next woman to take his fancy, praying to god that it would be me that he chose, only to be left alone once more.

I think it is fair to say that I, Molly Prewett, have developed a minor infatuation for a one Sirius Black.


	2. Chapter 2

He repulses me.

His golden, calculating eyes burn punctures into my skin, liquid fire seeping through my pores as he smirks, his obscenely full lips curving into a smile that doesn't reflect in his malicious eyes. The scars that run jaggedly across his face raise questions and goosebumps, suggesting a far more sinister side than the devil will let on. They reveal his inner Beelzebub, display to the world what truly lies beneath the carefully marketed exterior of youthful perfection.

His personality is sickly, overtly polite to the point where it is almost offensive. His gentlemanly manner charms many, but I shan't be fooled by the falsity of his demeanor. For it is all an act, there is no one on this earth that can act in such a manner without having an ulterior motive. Markings of a demon, cursed and polite, scarred and beautiful, Remus Lupin is designed to attract.

For he is attractive, that much can be determined. Then again, temptation is designed to capture hearts and destroy them, and that is all he is. Temptation, created to lure people into his tangled web, toying with them until he has his fill and, in a courteous and gentlemanly manner, disposes of them, leaving them pining for his affection.

And how he affects my bad boy. Not in the same way as the girls he beds on a nightly basis, nor in the manner that the Potter boy does, keeping him amused when the women become too much. No, the devil makes him tender, makes him weak, makes him act like every other person in -

No, I get ahead of myself. My bad boy is not 'in' anything, not for long. He has, however, made a deal with the devil, selling his soul, but for what? Perhaps for his charm, perhaps for his grace. Ironic, that the only person who could make my rebellious angel act at all angelic is satan himself.

After the devil walked in on my bad boy's tryst, my bad boy has all but given up his night time rendezvous, preferring to stay in his dormitory at night, hiding in the safety of his own sheets. How any man could have the power to make my bad boy give up something so important to him, I do not know, but somehow his large eyes and innocent manner have convinced my bad boy that celibacy is the best lifestyle choice.

Regardless, every night I have diligently stayed in my corner, waiting patiently for my bad boy to return. Every night, for 12 weeks, I was bitterly disappointed, as life continued and the common room remained silent at night, never punctuated by the usual sighs or exclamations emitted by my bad boy and his lovers. 12 weeks I stayed, 12 weeks without his moonlit face, 12 weeks of loneliness punctuated by the occasional moans of other couples of no interest to I.

How my bad boy stays away, I am unsure. The sexual drive of a teen should not allow him to abstain for this long, should have forced him to seek out the solace of a female touch within days, a week at most. Yet, somehow, he remains pure, increasing my desperation, making my muscles tense with suppressed desire, until eventually I came close to giving up, close to retracting into my own dormitory at night, or finding the bed of some other worry free rogue to pass my nights with.

But he returned. Eventually.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw him emerge from the dormitory stairs, looking utterly delectable as always. Long limbs moved with grace across the room, before he placed himself in the usual lounger languidly, waiting.

He leans against the sofa delectably, abdominal muscles tensing as he repositions himself, the slither of taught skin between his shirt and belt translucent in the shimmering moonlight. Alone, so beautiful, so independent, so delectable. He faces the stairs once more, beckoning his scarlet woman out of the shadows from which he had emerged. But as I see another leg emerge from the same shadows, with taught, masculine lines and lithe, cord-covered thighs, my heart drops, sinking to the depths of my toes as the devil crosses the room to mount my bad boy's lap, straddling him with practiced ease and whispering something inaudible into his strong ear.

A coarse laugh escapes my bad boy's lips and I jump. In our night time sessions, Sirius Black has made a lot of noises, but never a laugh before. It only serves to accentuate the night's company, to highlight how far my bad boy is drifting away from his usual routine, from me.

The devil leans back once more, revealing my bad boy's face to the common room once more. I close my eyes immediately, horrified by the soft lines of my bad boy, the affectionate glance which he rewards the devil with. Never, never have I seen that look of utter adoration on his face before, not with any of the women, the wanton ladies before this demon. He was never meant to wear that face, not for anyone else.

Only for me.

I blink back tears rapidly, feeling bile rise steadily in my throat in disgust at the scene ahead. I need to leave, cannot bear to watch the scene in front of me. Even as my eyes close, the image of their gentle kisses are burned onto the backs of my eyelids, scarring my memory with their disgusting romance. My bad boy leans up, taking the swollen lips above him into his mouth and nibbling slightly, enticing a groan from the devil's lips. I cannot do this, I cannot watch.

He is too encaptured by the man in his arms to notice me run across the room. The devil seems to pull away as if he hears something, but his bad boy places a kiss on his collarbone, and my footprints are forgotten in the wake of desire.


	3. Chapter 3

Experimentation, it must be.

My bad boy hates following the crowd, and surely homosexuality would be the ultimate rebellion, the creme de la creme of abnormality. When I think about it, I am almost surprised it took him this long to romance a ... male..., as such an indiscretion would surely be the route to being fully disowned by his heritage, as he so desperately desires.

To choose such an unworthy creature as the devil displays his impulsive nature in full. For who would willingly elect to romance such a disgraceful individual without impulsive nature and spur of the moment decisions playing a part? The devil is permanently within touching distance of my bad boy, tempting him into rebellion with his devilishly large eyes and sinful lips, ensuring that, were my bad boy to wish for a male to sin with, he would be the first port of call.

However, I did not judge my bad boy for one indiscretion; no matter how large a mistake he makes, I thought him no fool. For a fool makes the same mistake twice, whilst an intellect recognises his error and rectifies his behaviour. Any my bad boy would rectify his behaviour, I did not doubt that. For he lives and breathes for the females of the species; he cannot survive forever without a woman's delicate touch. And soon, yes, soon, he shall seek solace in female arms once more.

Yes, I was undeterred by his slight diversion from his path towards me; the devil is a distraction I had not thought I would need to deal with, but should last no longer than my bad boy's usual dalliances. He would tire of the novelty sooner rather than later, and then my bad boy will be free once more.

So once more, I began my wait. Once more, I prayed to see my bad boy in the arms of a woman, carefully contained in their angelic hold. My certainty that his next partner would be of the female variety made it all the more painful when he walked down the stairs, eyes glued to the devil with the desperation of a puppy. The pair entered the common room early, the afternoon sun glowing over the grounds when I saw them, arms brushing as they headed to a secluded corner of the common room, bidding goodbye to their compatriots - that Potter boy and the other one headed out of the common room, no doubt to the kitchens to fulfil the other one's no doubt ravished stomach.

I sneak quietly to the entrance of the secluded zone the pair have chosen, a small turret in the north corner of the common room. A silent sob escapes me as I view the intimacy with which they hold one another, how my bad boy's eyes light up as the devil laughs. And when they start kissing, my eyes burn, unable to look away as the devil nips my bad boy's lips lightly, running a soft tongue over the tender area as their mouths entwine, my bad boy rocking forward with a moan so he almost straddles the devil. Strong, sinful arms encase him, holding him firm against the demonic chest in front of him as they continue their tryst. However, when my bad boy reaches for the devil's belt, bile rises too heavily in my throat, and I rip my eyes from the pair with haste, unwilling to continue watching as my bad boy makes another man writhe and moan as he does his women.

A moan escapes the turret and I jump, scrambling to my feet and out the common room with extraordinary pace. Unwilling and unable to stop, I head for the castle doors, desiring the fresh air to clear my mind and purify my thoughts.

My feet lead me unhappily around the castle grounds, time lapsing unnoticed as I lament the relationship between my bad boy and the devil. My hands wring knots as I think of them together, stomach twisting uncomfortably as I recognise the familiarity behind their movements. How long have they been dancing together? How long have they swayed to their own rhythm? My heart stops once more as I remember my bad boy's last encounter with a woman; the devil's interruption had my bad boy scampering, was it then that they started doing more than just sleeping in the same room?

My mind flies away as I think of the times they are together; the amount of time my bad boy has taken to staying in his dorm; the casual, amorous looks that pass between the pair. So tortured am I by the images floating through my mind that I fail to notice the warmth of the castle's entrance as the stone walls contain me, nor the increase in noise as I enter one of the busier corridors in the castle.

It is only when I am knocked from my feet by a firm object that I take notice.

"Oh, Molly, I'm so sorry." I hear before my eyes have a chance to adjust, feeling a hand lift me to my feet easily. "Are you okay? My fault completely, I wasn't looking where I was going." Dulcet tones ask, as my heart sinks in recognition. In my haste, I must have run into the one demon I did not wish to see. My head drops submissively, but as my eyes focus I spot that I am not only staring at one pair of polished shoes, but two, with the second pair looking remarkably like those of -

"Yeah, yeah, the girl's fine Rem, come on, lets get off." My head snaps up, eyes turning to saucers as he speaks. Even the english language is charmed by him, allowing its words to lilt off his tongue with natural grace. My bad boy. Their hands entwine briefly, fingertips tracing palms for the slightest of seconds that would be lost to the casual observer, but oh, I see now.

How he has charmed my bad boy! How his frightening, golden eyes have trapped my darling's lost soul, how his long limbs have snared my bad boy, blinding him to the true beauty in the world! Oh, if I could only show my bad boy reality, let my bad boy see how easily he is being conned by the devil. But I can only stare, witness to the horror that is unfolding right before me.

The devil waits patiently for my answer as I remain frozen, watching my bad boy tug his arm hopefully in his desired direction. My eyes return to the devils and he flinches slightly, shocked by the intensity of my gaze I suppose. I watch as he allows my bad boy to tug him away, eyes not leaving mine until the last possible second, when he turns to resume his walk.

Before my mind can understand their path, my feet begin to follow the trail left in the wake of the two boys, quietly tracing the pair from a distance. Occasionally, the demon seems to recognise there's something afoot, looking over his shoulder with a sneering, worried glance. But whilst he is observant, I am cunning, and the busy corridors of Hogwarts lend themselves nicely to becoming unnoticeable.

They reach the common room, and we pause. I look away as they lean in quickly, eyes alert for any intruders to their quiet time, but once again they do not see my hidden form. Sirius retreats into the common room, and almost every fibre in my body begs me to follow, to go and sit in my hidden corner and observe my bad boy.

But the opportunity to observe the man who's captured his interest is too good to let it pass by. What was it about this handsome devil that separated him from every other passably attractive man on the premises? What was it that made my bad boy turn away from women for him?

My footsteps trace the path he leaves as we rejoin the busy corridors, bobbing through the crowd as we head for his destination. He slides into a door, and I find myself unsurprised when I read the 'library' sign adorning the frame. By the time I enter, he has disappeared into the tall shelves, and I curse quietly.

Slinking between the shelves, I search the tables, until I eventually find my target. Remaining behind the bookshelf, I peer between dusty volumes, watching him quietly. He sits calmly in one of the artifacts rooms, where vases, cups and statues adorn the plush walls. He quickly slides a novel out of his satchel as he settles down to read, lips curled upwards slightly into a satanic smile. I had never imagined my bad boy would be so interested in such an introvert intellect, whose idea of free time involves sitting in the library. This man, this demonic soul in front of me, antithesises everything my bad boy is, everything my bad boy should be.

How long we remain like this, I do not know. Time passes rapidly as I glare at his steady form, which droops lower and lower with the setting sun. Before long, I realise he has fallen into a slumber, drawn into his dreams by the glowing candlelight and sweet silence that surrounds him. Taking my chance, I step from behind the bookcase, approaching him slowly, as one might approach a sleeping bear. Staring at his form, I frown once more. How did my bad boy fall for someone so weak? Someone with so little character, with so little personal strength? This devil is undeserving. He does not appreciate how blessed he truly is.

Suddenly, he begins to stir. My eyes turn to saucers as he takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering as I remain static behind him. Frozen in fear, I watch him begin to awake, head rising slowly from the oak table as he rubs his eyes tiredly with large, worn hands. My heart stops as he pinches the bridge of his nose lightly, and at my panicked exhalation he begins to turn, startled by the noise.

Before I can register my movements, I spring into action, grabbing a vase from behind me and bringing it round rapidly. It crumbles satisfyingly as it hits the devils head before I am in his line of sight, stoneware clinking against the floor as his eyes roll back rapidly, head resuming its position on the table almost immediately. I peer round to look at his face desperately, grimacing slightly as I spot the bleeding near his temple.

Oh tiddlywinks.


	4. Chapter 4

A rapid levitation charm lifts the devil as if he was a rag doll, putting him at my mercy once more. I barely have time to register where we're going as we trail the castle corridors. My heart beats strong against my ribcage as my eyes scan the narrow halls, nerves frayed by the never ending walk.

More than once I am forced to stop and hide with the unconscious devil in unseen crevices, heart lodged firmly in my mouth as an unknown body would pass alongside our hiding place, mere inches from discovering my unfathomable secret. But none did, all too concerned with their own happenings to notice the uninteresting girl and the collapsed man bound under her spell.

It was only when we reached the room of requirement that I began to notice my surroundings once more. Indeed, upon entering, the room had presented it perfectly for my purpose - a rigid, wooden chair stands tall in the center of the room, with manacles on its back and legs and a fabric bag placed casually upon its seat. Floating the unconscious devil over, I quickly place him in the chair, fastening his hands behind his back and placing the fabric bag over his head securely.

The awakening charm passes my lips as if second nature, tumbling out quietly as my hand curls and dips to the appropriate rhythm. At once, the devil's head shifts with a start, arms struggling in a disorientated fashion as he attempts to find his bearings.

"Hello?" He states into the air, beastly voice curling my insides with its deep rumble. "I know there's someone there. Can you please explain what is going on?"

I almost let my lips open, to tell him why he's here, to tell him of my worries, my fears, my hatred of his putrid spine. But I hold my tongue, knowing it was only his devilish charm that bent my will into wanting such things.

I imagine that he's wearing a smirk behind his fabric bindings, knowing that he's driven me to bondage and violence in my envy and anger. Yet the tight line of his muscles reveal how tense he is; how much my spontaneity has worried him.

He needs to hurt as I do. He needs to feel his heart beating so painfully that it feels ready to split, he needs to have pain flood his veins in the way his rendevouz make me feel. I let my wand rise, and begin to draw the intricate pattern in the air as if second nature.

I drew my wand closer to him, scraping the soft pattern of the spell across his chest contemplatively as I stare at his covered head, blood pounding as my mind begged me to make him hurt and suffer as I had.

"Whoever you are, you don't want to do this. The cruciactus isn't the sort of spell you can just perform once and forget about. Once you perform this on me, its on your hands forever." His strong voice wavered slightly as he said it, lips stumbling over the easiest of vowels.

I continue to trace the pattern, lips shaping out the syllables even though no sound passes them. My other hand takes to the devil's form, tracing his average arms, his broad shoulders, his normal neck. And all at once, I realise how desperately _human _the devil is, how average, condemned to the same mortal life span as the rest of us, subject to the same loves and hates, with the same weaknesses, same strengths, same hands and same feet.

I can't do it. Though the envy still courses through my veins, the tremors in my hands give me away, and I know that even if I truly wanted to, I could not cast the unforgivable. As my hand drops, I hear Remus release a shaky breath, head dropping thankfully.

A noise from behind me made me start as I realised someone was entering. Instinct takes over, and before I even realise I'm casting an invisibility charm, making me disappear into thin air.

The door slammed open just as the disillusionment charm kicked in. And there he was, with a tattered piece of parchment in his hand and a look of horror on his face. My bad boy. Sirius.

"Remus." The name tumbles from his lips softly, as he runs over and slides the fabric bag over the boy's head, stroking the supple skin of Remus' neck as their eyes connect. My bad boy leans forward to rest his lips against my captive's forehead, eyes scrunching tight as his arms wrap round his partner's neck. "I thought - we found blood - I was -"

"Shh, its fine, I'm okay." Remus cooed, smiling as he was rapidly unbound. Once my bad boy had untied his hands, he reached forward, taking the beautiful face in front of him into his palms softly, caressing the high cheekbones with callous pads. "I'm so glad to see you." He laughed, trailing his thumb over the lips in front of him, before following the trail with his lips.

"Who was it, Rem? I swear, I'll kill them." My eyes widened at this. Kill? My bad boy couldn't kill me, wouldn't dare.

"I could have sworn I could smell Mol-" Remus started, as my breath caught with a scratch. _Smell Molly. _He smelt me. He knows that I caught him, knows that I was going to tear into his flesh, knows that I was going to - that I considered -

"Who... Who was it Rem?" My bad boy begged, nails scraping patterns along Remus' arms as he stares lovingly into those pools of molten gold.

"It was probably just some Slitherins, Sirius. Do not worry about it, I'm fine now." Remus smiled, inhaling deeply as he looked round the room, eyes seeming to fixate in the space where my body should be. I watched his nostrils as they inhaled once more, allowing his eyes to follow my form with astounding accuracy. As if my scent left a visible aura for him, he continued raising his eyes, until his amber almonds bore holes into my own dilated pupils. Eyes never leaving mine, he continued to talk to my bad boy, hand tracing the angel's face. "Unbind me and we can get out of here, Pads. I just want to lie in your arms for tonight, you can worry about revenge tomorrow."

My eyes burned as my bad boy did just that, arms wrapping around the lithe form in front of him with a smile, before he rocked back onto his heels in front of the chair. Remus stood, placing a hand under his partner's chin and raising him to his feet also, placing a light kiss on the pureblood's lips.

Guiding him out the door, I watch numbly as the pair disappear, but before the door clicks shut it is ripped open once more, the man slamming the door behind him and locking it with a quick spell, before he turns to where I stand, shattering the disillusionment spell with a non-verbal, stalking over to where I stand. He towers over me, not touching an inch of my flesh as I lean back against the wall nervously.

"I don't know what this is about, but if you ever so much as look at Sirius again, I will have no hesitation in hexing you to next week." The boy in front of me growled, golden pupils shining in the moonlight descending from the opalescent, near full orb in the sky. "If I'd have told him, I shudder to think what he would have done!"

"You're a sixth year, why the hell did you even consider using an illegal curse on me!" He growled above me, form intimidating from this close. Suddenly, his eyes changed, the frightening golden colour retracting to make way for a more generic, amber colour, shining out of the pits of his soul with a mixture of pity and disgust. "You think you love him." He stated softly, placing his hands on his hips as he stepped away from my shaking form. "You don't even know what love is. I won't tell him. He doesn't even know you exist anyway." I stare as he collects his wand from his pocket, hands steady as he recasts the invisibility charm, turning on his heel and leaving without looking back.

My hand brushes the tears from my cheeks as I sink to the floor, letting Remus' words sink through my skin rapidly.

My bad boy is dead. Remus' Sirius Black has taken his place, ripping my bad boy from my heart with barely a second thought, leaving me cold, and lost, and alone once more.


	5. Chapter 5

Years passed. My mind still held innocent memories of the majestic being that had enchanted my very soul when he stormed into my life, but soon, so very soon, he began to lose his shine, the few pictures I owned became sullied and ripped, and my heart learnt to accept Arthur Weasley as a meagre replacement. My beautiful children were born with flame red hair and freckles instead of the silky black locks and pale skin I had imagined so very long ago, but regardless I loved them also, letting their innocent smiles and childish babbling ease the wounds upon my heart.

Yet, when he burst into my life once more, so unfashionably, over 20 years later, my heart couldn't help but yearn for my God, mortalised and tarnished by his stay in prison, but nonetheless there, beautiful, notorious.

Passionate.

"He's not a child!" The God yelled impatiently, hands thrown in the air before he rested forward, arms balanced on his long lean legs.

"He's not an adult either!" I replied, knees weak with the passion in my bad boy's voice as we spar over his godson's rights. Various other members of the order and our families are placed around the room, and as I glance at them from the corner of my eye, I can't help but spot Remus, Remus the Werewolf, Remus who I was left alone with those many years ago, sitting upright, his goblet of wine lowered in order to focus solely on my sparring partner, eyebrows knitted tightly together.

I couldn't help myself. Despite the spell he still held over my heart, I needed to protect the child I saw as one of my own. "He's not _James_, Sirius." I know it is a low blow, and the flicker of hurt that flashes across his features hurts more than any curse or spell Voldemort could throw at me.

"I know perfectly well who he is, Molly." He states, eyes aflame with frustration and thinly masked dislike.

There are times, such as this, where I wonder whether his venom stems from the events of so long ago, of the night where I came so close to harming the man across the room, sipping calmly from his goblet of wine. But then I remember the fury in Sirius' voice, the violence that dripped from his tongue that night, and I know that Remus Lupin never let the true events of that night slip from between his lips, spill into reality as I wished to spill his blood.

For if he had, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have discovered whether the grass is greener on the other side of the ground that night. The powerful, raw rage of my bad boy would have crushed me, the small, weak child, within moments, last droplets of life draining out of me as he squeezed and punched and cursed.

Sometimes, I wish he had told. To tell and bring my bad boy truly back to me, for the bad boy to focus all his soul upon I, I, I, even if it was only for the last pitiful seconds of my meagre life.

And a part of my heart can't help but inwardly relish in the attention he is bestowing upon me now, through angered statements and frustrated silences. I cannot stop; I need more of these valuable seconds, I need his passion, his mind to be totally focussed upon myself. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!" I screech, reveling in the passion I alight in his eyes.

"What's wrong with that?" I hear Harry ask from behind me, my eyes still boring into Sirius.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are _not _your father, however much you might look like him! You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" Heavens no, my darling Sirius. You would have been the perfect father or Godfather to any of my children, but you are untamed, you run too wild to think to care for Harry. The werewolf has let you grow feral, ruined you almost beyond repair.

"Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and -" It is another harsh hit, I must admit, but I must protect my young, my family, and it only serves to make his anger more intense, his eyes shine beautifully in the battle.

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" Sirius said loudly, angrily, passionately.

"Arthur!" My poor, poor, half-wit Arthur. In all our years together, telling him of my love for the man in front of me has never occurred, though at times like this I wish I had, I wish I had pretended to be one of the many Sirius had taken advantage of, if only to force my husband into siding with me. "Arthur, back me up!"

But he doesn't, settling himself firmly in the dead center of the argument, neither agreeing with myself or Sirius. Suddenly, a small cough from the corner of the room gathers attention, and Remus the werewolf finally looks away from Sirius, clearing his throat. I turn to him optimistically, though knowing before the words tumble from his mouth whose side he will so easily choose, and so when he crosses the room to stand next to his secret partner, I am unsurprised, watching a knowing look flicker across his face towards me as he allows his hand to brush against Sirius' momentarily, an obvious display of ownership.

More hits fire either way, though there is no doubting who has won. But when Lupin states sharply "Sirius, sit _down._" the battle begins to leave me, as I watch Sirius' attention return to his partner, myself forgotten like yesterday's papers.

After the entire battle, one prize stays rests in my hand in my youngest daughter, taken kicking and screaming from the scene.

I drag Ginny upwards to her room, depositing her unceremoniously before shutting the door, knees shaking as I lean against the timber frame for minutes, breath catching in my throat as I remember the fire in my bad boy's eyes as he glared furiously at me. My knees shake with happiness as my eyes close gleefully, head leaning back to rest on the cold wood.

For years I thought him dead. I thought my bad boy had perished and given way to the sensitive, boring version of Sirius Black that Remus Lupin loved. But no, my old love was still in there, and for the first time in over 20 years, as I heard him bed his lover, my eyes fluttered closed, hand fell to my waistband, and the fiery, passionate cries from their room mingled with my own as I learnt to love my bad boy once more.

xx

The End

xx

Review please. Constructive Criticism welcomed.


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